


sixty

by snapfreeze



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapfreeze/pseuds/snapfreeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixty moments of affection that Fareeha and Angela share over the course of their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sixty

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: there’s not really any plot, i just wanted to write something fluffy and relatively unstructured.

  1. Fareeha is still asleep. The heart monitor next to her beeps steadily and Angela tiredly replaces the IV bag on the pole. Fareeha’s skin is still a few shades paler from blood loss and she’s out like a light, but she’s alive -- even though she wasn’t a few hours ago. The metallic smell of the blood still burns in her nose, and Angela can’t get the image of Fareeha, broken and battered, out of her mind. She knows that behind the concern she feels towards a comrade, what else she’s feeling is dangerous and forbidden but she can’t deny it. She reaches out, brushing her fingertips over Fareeha’s forehead and presses one tiny kiss there. She pulls back just in time as the doors of the medbay woosh open and Jack trudges in, ready to watch over the sleeping soldier while Angela finally gets to rest. Angela gives Fareeha one last look before turning on her heel and walking away.  
  

  2. They are silent as the sea crashes against the cliffs below them. Angela’s face is serene in the glow of the moon and the stars, and Fareeha wonders what it would be like to kiss such radiance.  
  

  3. In retrospect, they should have learned their lesson last time that competitive board games do _not_ encourage team bonding. Hana almost upends the Monopoly board and Mei looks far too innocent as she counts her new veritable stack of money. Fareeha gives Angela a consoling pat on the back as the doctor looks forlornly at her own dwindling funds.  
  

  4. Zaryanova still isn’t completely sure of her own strength, and Fareeha’s split lip certainly does not require immediate medical attention but she comes to see her anyway. It’s wrong, but Angela can’t stop herself from feeling slightly grateful that she has an excuse to stare at the mouth she wants to kiss so badly. She doesn’t miss the gaze that Fareeha fixes her with as Angela cleans the wound, but she pushes it to the back of her mind and dismisses it as wishful thinking.  
  

  5. The damage boost tether from her staff glows blue as Pharah rockets into the air for the upteenth time. Mercy trails up behind her, a guardian angel to the bird of prey wreaking havok from both the sky and the ground. The ground disappears from under them and the wind ruffles her hair, and Angela feels something other than grim determination while in the midst of battle.  
  

  6. Fareeha’s sleep shorts are patterned with little yellow ducks. They stand out among the black of the fabric and the black metal alloy of her legs, and Angela suppresses the urge to laugh. It’s been days since she’s slept properly and everything seems to be a little off kilter. Fareeha looks at her curiously but does not say anything, lifting her steaming mug to her lips instead. They sit beside each other until their drinks are finished, and Fareeha accompanies Angela back to her room. They pause at the door, and Angela doesn’t miss the way Fareeha’s eyes dart to her lips and away again. With the tips of her ears burning red, Fareeha stammers out a goodnight and hurries off. Angela is both highly amused and slightly disappointed before she berates herself. Fareeha is a comrade and her patient, nothing more. Angela doesn’t sleep that night either.  
  

  7. There’s a sort of besital rage in Fareeha’s eyes when Angela pulls her off the dead mercenary. The metal encasing Fareeha’s knuckles are slick with blood and bone and bits of brain matter and Angela can feel the desperation pouring off her. Her own broken nose throbs, and she can feel her cheek swelling from where the mercenary backhanded her. It’s so uncharacteristic of Pharah to fly into such a rage, to beat a man to death with her own fists but there are armoured fingertips stroking along Angela’s forehead, tracing under the cut to her bottom lip. Fareeha opens her mouth to speak but Winston arrives, evidently having heard Mercy’s cries for help over the comm link. Pharah escapes before Angela has the time to stop her.  
  

  8. It’s well past midnight when Fareeha appears in the doorway of the medbay. Her apology is stilted, awkward, and Angela tells her there is nothing to be sorry about. Fareeha looks deeply ashamed of herself, refusing to look at Angela even when both of her hands are pressed between the doctor’s. A kiss, fleeting but grateful, is pressed against each knuckle of her hands.  
  

  9. _She failed._ Angela is physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted from dealing with the fallout caused by a bomb that they failed to stop. Her brain refuses to let her rest, but she’s not the only one. It’s a tight fit, but they manage to squish themselves onto the single cot. Despite the scrubbing, the smoke clings to Fareeha’s skin but Angela can make out gunpowder and some fruity, floral scent of her shampoo. Angela feels a kiss being pressed to the top of her head as she clutches Fareeha’s shirt, and she lets herself burrow into the crook of Fareeha’s neck. The woman next to her simply holds her tighter, and Angela can let herself pretend for one night.
  10. Fareeha can hardly stand to look at Angela without wanting to kiss her. She would move mountains for this woman, but duty comes first. She settles for admiring her from afar, aching with love that she cannot give.  
  

  11. Fareeha’s skin is cyanotic when they finally pull her out of the Volskaya Industries harbour. Water seeps out of every joint in her armour, and it takes three people to finally pull away the plates of the torso pieces. _Mercy_ sets to work, hands working with ruthless efficiency on autopilot but _Angela_ is screaming. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes as she touches Fareeha’s freezing skin, trying her hardest to restart the reassuring _thump thump thump_ of her heart back under her hands. Her staff glows with its warm, yellow light and Fareeha surges awake again. They help her roll onto her side as Fareeha spits up half the harbour’s water from her lungs. Against her better judgement, she lets Fareeha rest against her the entire ride back to base. Angela’s lip quivers uncontrollably when their self-control crumbles and their mouths meet halfway, and Fareeha rubs her thumb over the shell of Angela’s ear in an attempt to soothe her. Fareeha is warm and inviting but it’s risky, it’s dangerous, it’s technically not allowed. They both agree not to speak of it again.  
  

  12. Angela can hardly stand to look at Fareeha without wanting to kiss her. She would move mountains for this woman, but duty comes first. She settles for admiring her from afar, aching with love that she cannot give.  
  

  13. _World’s going to shit again and if it’s anything like last time, it’s going to take so much from you. If something makes you happy, hold onto it._ Torbjorn’s words are the straw that broke the camel's back, and they are still ringing in her ears as she marches up to Angela’s lab. Fareeha cuts off the doctor’s startled question with a bruising kiss and swallows the surprised gasp that escapes her. A hand fists in her hair to pull her closer, and they both knock many objects to the floor as Fareeha presses Angela incessantly against the table. Their teeth bump together and Fareeha is leaving marks against the skin of Angela’s throat as they tumble into bed. Angela’s touch sears into Fareeha’s very being, and she wonders how on earth she managed to live without them for so long.  
  

  14. Her neck and her collarbone, Fareeha finds, is the key to unlocking the most intoxicating little noises from Angela.  
  

  15. Angela squirms as Fareeha kisses each red mark littering her neck the next morning as an apology. They’re both lucky that it’s cold, and Angela’s choice of turtleneck is not questioned.  
  

  16. The bedside lamp is too bright, and Fareeha squints in the light as Angela kisses her cheek. Fareeha tiptoes back to her own quarters before anyone notices, body still buzzing from the  warmth pressed against her when she woke.  
  

  17. Angela pays special attention to the defined lines of Fareeha’s abdomen with her mouth. The kisses that she leaves on her path down Fareeha’s body draws the softest, quietest reactions and Angela is addicted to them. Angela laps at the wetness smeared over Fareeha’s inner thighs and nips at the tender skin, soothing away the sting with a pass of her tongue.  
  

  18. The shaking of Angela’s limbs begins to lessen when Fareeha presses close, tracing her fingertips up and down the bumps of her spine. Angela’s breathing is still panicked and ragged, and she clutches onto Fareeha so hard that her fingers dig into her flesh to the point of pain. Fareeha doesn’t mind, and drops a kiss to the space between Angela’s eyes. “It’s alright.” She soothes. “Just a dream.”  
  

  19. There is a wonderfully warm weight against her back as Angela blinks awake. The arm slung around her waist tightens, and she smiles at the hair tucked behind her ear and at the kisses that trail up the back of her neck. She is asleep again in seconds.  
  

  20. Fareeha is still sweaty from her sparring session with Zaryanova when Angela pulls her aside and into a storage cupboard in the middle of the hall. The kisses are clumsy in the almost darkness, and Angela’s hands run appreciatively along her arms, push the hem of her tank top up to rake her nails gently across her firm stomach and along her back. Fareeha grins smugly at the gasp that she gets when she lifts Angela off the floor to press her against the wall.  
  

  21. Fareeha’s kiss is still lingering on her lips when Lena swipes the gun oil from Angela’s cheek, grinning wolfishly.  
  

  22. Her eyes burn when she blinks, and Angela doesn’t notice the door to her office whooshing open quietly. She only realises that she has company when a bowl of something wonderfully smelling is placed on her desk and when warm lips press against her temple.  
  

  23. Fareeha’s torso and left arm still bear burn and shrapnel scars from the explosion that took her right arm and both her legs. She’s made peace with the way she is now, with the way her limbs are and the scars serve as a reminder that she won, that she lived. Angela likes to trace over them as they settle in for the night, and Fareeha drifts off to the feeling of fingertips spreading love over her skin.  
  

  24. The metal of the Raptora suit is warm from the sun and from use under her palm. Angela kisses her in the corner of the cargo area as they flee the scene of the battle, grateful that they’re both alive.  
  

  25. Angela bites her bottom lip, finger crooked in an invitation and spreading her legs as a clearer invitation. She laughs at the way Fareeha almost trips over her own feet to get to the bed, but the press of Fareeha’s mouth against her’s is more than enough to quiet her.  
  

  26. The taste of coffee and toothpaste do not mix well, but Angela kisses Fareeha good morning anyway.  
  

  27. Genji watches as Fareeha and Angela bound into view, laughing and linked together hand in hand. He stands from his hidden meditation spot and leaves when Fareeha tugs the doctor into the circle of her arms and kisses her. It has taken some time to let go of his resentment towards Doctor Zeigler and what she did to him, but he is a different person now. He is happy that she has found someone who sets her soul at ease.  
  

  28. Angela can taste the apology on the tip of Fareeha’s tongue. “I’m sorry.” Fareeha’s eyes are forlorn. “I’m sorry for yelling, and I was wrong.” Angela hopes that Fareeha can feel her forgiveness in the answering kiss. Her fingers curl around Fareeha’s jaw, the tips playing the loose hair resting against her neck. “We were both wrong.”  
  

  29. The day passes sluggishly, and it ends with Fareeha kissing between her shoulder blades as she eases the knots from her back.  
  

  30. Hana and Lúcio don’t mention it, but their matching grins are a little too knowing as Fareeha and Angela spring apart. “Doctor Zee!” Hana calls, “There’s a shipment of something that’s just arrived for you.”  
  

  31. The away team arrives home two hours ahead of schedule. Abandoning her notes, Angela sprints through the corridor mazes of Watchpoint Gibraltar and out onto the landing deck. While she _is_ glad to see her friends safe and high off a victory, it takes a surprising amount of effort to not just drag Fareeha off to somewhere private. She says her greetings and leads Fareeha by the wrist off to the medbay under the guise of post-mission checkups. Angela has Fareeha pressed up against the door as soon as it shuts behind them. The kisses rejuvenate her, and Angela breathes out all the tension she’s been carrying for three weeks. She breathes in home and warmth.  
  

  32. The bath water is beginning to turn too cool for comfort, but Fareeha’s body is still warm behind her. Angela’s almost drifted off to sleep but blinks awake at the sound of the water gurgling down the drain. “Come on sleepy, let’s go to bed.” Fareeha has to help her towel herself dry and Angela does not even bother clothing herself again before she collapses into bed, already asleep.  
  

  33. “I’m hungry.” Angela declares. Fareeha’s arms loosen around her. “Did you not have enough for dinner?” Angela grins devilishly, pushing Fareeha onto her back and climbing onto her. “Not hungry for food.”  
  

  34. Angela tastes Fareeha’s declaration of love on her tongue well before she voices it. She returns the sentiment with a smile and a heart overflowing with love.  
  

  35. Mercy’s hands work miracles. She can heal the most life threatening of injuries, bring back the dead. But some days, there are simply too many. There are some days that Mercy loses two for every one that she saves. Fareeha towels Angela’s hair dry, careful not to pull on any knots. Angela stares ahead blankly and shows no signs of life until Fareeha kneels in front of her. Fareeha takes both of Angela’s hands in her own and kisses her fingers with such reverence, such love and only then do the tears begin to fall.  
  

  36. Everyone knows about them, but no one says a thing. They still all avert their eyes when Angela touches Fareeha’s forearm at breakfast as a greeting, still avert their eyes when the affection in their smiles pour through. None of them care, but Angela still pulls Fareeha into shadowed corners to make out like teenagers. It feels carefree, youthful.  
  

  37. Fareeha’s ribs are her one ticklish spot, and she gasps with laughter until tears stream down her cheeks and begs for Angela to stop. Angela sits atop her hips and grins, demanding payment in kisses.  
  

  38. “Fareeha, can you please give me a hand?” The sound of some quiet clicks and hisses don’t shift Angela’s attention from the carrots she’s cutting until something hard and cold touches her forearm. She looks down to find Fareeha holding out her own detached right arm, a completely serious expression on her face. Angela sighs; she somehow should have predicted this response. “That lost its potential to be funny after the third time.” Fareeha clearly does not share her feelings if the wide, gleeful grin that spreads across her face is any indication.  
  

  39. “Quiet, _hayati_.” Fareeha purrs. “Wouldn’t want the others to hear you now, would we?” Her hips still and for Angela, the sensation of the length inside her, unmoving, is enough to draw a high pitched whine from her throat. Fareeha tuts and seals her mouth over Angela’s again, muffling the sounds that escape as she begins to move again.  
  

  40. Something hits her cheek, jolting Angela out of the almost-sleep state that she’s been in for the past hour. Fareeha’s hand moves back down to drape over her waist, and a small kiss is pressed to her cheek in apology.  
  

  41. “I love you.” Fareeha tells her through a yawn. Angela is endeared by the uncaffeinated terror that has replaced her girlfriend at this early hour. “I love you too, grumpy.”
  42. A sharp tug of her hair exposes her neck, and Angela moans her appreciation as a kiss is bitten into the tender flesh. Her legs tighten their grip around Fareeha’s hips as her girlfriend pushes into her again and again.  
  

  43. Angela can’t get the sound of the panicked screaming out of her head. She closes her eyes and lets Fareeha cover her body in gentle kisses until she is too exhausted to think.  
  

  44. Her skin is freezing by the time she gets back to bed. Fareeha gives a small sigh of relief as she detaches her metal limbs and sets them to charge. Her shuffling on the bed stirs Angela from her sleep, and Fareeha gratefully accepts the body that drapes over her’s when she lies down again. The languid kisses sprinkled against her jaw make Fareeha close her eyes and relax, body sinking into the mattress. “Just a dream, vögelchen.” Fareeha hears. “Just a dream.”  
  

  45. McCree is fairly sure he’s intruding on a private moment. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Angela pecks a kiss to Fareeha’s chin as they ready themselves to storm the heart of the compound. Fareeha catches Angela by the wrist and kisses the palm of her hand, and McCree tilts his hat to give them some privacy.  
  

  46. Even with only one arm, Fareeha proves too strong for her at this hour of the morning. Angela allows herself to be pulled back into bed, and she settles snugly against her beloved’s body. It is a Sunday, after all. They can afford to be lazy for a few hours.  
  

  47. Fareeha presses a sloppy kiss to Angela’s temple before she falls heavily into the chair beside her, just in time for the post-mission debrief. Fareeha falls asleep halfway through the meeting.  
  

  48. Fareeha’s half hearted protest die in her throat as Angela drops a cheeky kiss against her lips. One half of Fareeha’s perfectly prepared peanut butter and fluff sandwich disappears along with the doctor.  
  

  49. It’s a spur of the moment thing. Fareeha thanks every single deity that she can think of that she’s been carrying around the ring for months now, trying and failing to find the right time. High off one of their most promising victories to date, they’ve barely set foot back onto the evac shuttle when Fareeha sprints over to Angela, ring clutched in her armoured fist and drops down to one knee. She’s not exactly sure what she’s even saying, unable to concentrate on the most important moment of her life to date when her vision is filled with Angela’s tear filled eyes and her radiant smile. Angela gives her answer before Fareeha can even properly finish her question.  
  

  50. Reinhardt walks Angela down the aisle. Only their comrades, their _friends,_ are in attendance and Fareeha only invites three other people. The ceremony is quick, and there isn’t a single dry eye amongst the crowd as the vows are being exchanged. It doesn't fully hit Fareeha that they’re _married_ until the next morning when Angela sticks Fareeha’s toothbrush into her mouth for her, toothpaste already squirted across the top. “We’re married.” Her words are somewhat garbled with the toothbrush in the way, and Angela can’t help but laugh at the dazed expression on Fareeha’s face. “Yes, we are.”  
  

  51. Fareeha looks absolutely delicious in her suit, and it’s really the only highlight of this dull gala that Angela’s being forced to attend. Champagne _does_ flow freely though, and Angela’s head is buzzing pleasantly when she sweeps the hair from Fareeha’s neck, placing a secret kiss to that spot just under her ear. “As much as I’m enjoying seeing you in this suit, I’m more looking forward to peeling you out of it later.”  
  

  52. “Shower sex always seemed a little hazardous.” Angela gasps as fingers find the wetness between her thighs. “Do you want me to stop?” Fareeha asks, and Angela shakes her head. “Don’t you dare.” Angela kisses the smug grin off Fareeha’s mouth.  
  

  53. “I love you, just wanted to let you know.” Angela does not look up from her book but Fareeha smiles at the words, her needle and thread barely slowing as she patches the hole in one of her combat suits. “I’m glad. I love you too.”  
  

  54. Angela only holds on tighter at the sound of Jack’s voice rising over the din of the shuttle, telling Fareeha to get a move on. Her fingers dig into the fabric of Fareeha’s shirt, savouring the embrace for a few more seconds before she pulls away. Fareeha kisses her quickly, mindful of the five people bustling about close by before stepping into the shuttle. Angela waves at the retreating vehicle, watching as it disappears over the horizon as she clutches at Fareeha’s old HSI bomber jacket draped over her shoulders. She prays for their safe return.  
  

  55. Ice cold fingers touch the back of Fareeha’s neck, and Angela laughs at Fareeha’s undignified yelp. Angela’s warm mouth touches the spot of her neck in a playful apology.  
  

  56. Fareeha burns the roof of her mouth with the leftover pasta. It’s much too hot to eat comfortably, but she is too tired to care. Angela seems to be in the same predicament but they soldier on anyway. The bowls are stacked and placed carefully on the bedside table when they’ve been emptied -- they can be washed tomorrow. Fareeha makes no attempt to remove her prosthetics and neither of them change into their pyjamas before they fall asleep together, propped up against the headboard.  
 
  57. The desk lamp shatters when it hits the wall, and Angela flinches at the noise. Fareeha, wild with grief and rage, destroys the room with her bare hands and it’s only when she whirls around to face Angela that she seems to deflate. She collapses against the offered comfort when Angela wraps her arm around her wife. Angela presses a few teary kisses to the top of Fareeha’s head, Reaper’s taunting words echoing and rebounding around in her head. Gabri- _Reaper_ is her creation, and Ana Amari’s blood is on her hands too.  
  

  58. Red-nosed and coughing, Fareeha grumbles at Angela’s loud sniggering. Her expression softens at the kiss placed on the tip of her nose and the extra blanket draped over her shoulders.  
  

  59. Angela likes to put on soft music when she’s working. It is a habit that carried her through medical school, and music helps her focus better. Her work consumes her, and sometimes she doesn’t realise when her playlist has run its course and when inky blackness replaces the sunlight outside. Fareeha will come to her with a smile and restart the playlist, tugging Angela from her chair. Fareeha’s touch reawakens her, fingertips trailing along the line of her jaw, foreheads pressed together as they sway gently to the music.  
  

  60. Thanks to Fareeha’s little… _distraction_ , the pancakes and the sausages are slightly burnt. But Angela did go out at the crack of dawn to find sausages for Fareeha, so she’ll eat them. They sit on the floor of the balcony, Angela leaning against her between her legs and feeding her bits of food as they watch the city below them come to life. The snow is finally melting in the spring sunshine and they share the same tall glass of pulpless orange juice. Their leave is only for a week and they have much planned but for now, they can simply sit and enjoy each other’s company.



 

**Author's Note:**

> sob with me about these gays @ shepardtsoni on tumblr


End file.
